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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097903">Doing It To Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss'>Sky_kiss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Ev's backstory? Yup. Corpo!V knowing her before the heist? YUP, F/M, Give Evelyn a corporate attack dog, I will fabricate legitimately everything in this, I'm just giving Evelyn one, Ill advised team up of lost sassy idiots in this hell city? Yup, Pre-Canon, Sex Work, corpo!v, i just need more evelyn content</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:07:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes up with the Mox because she thinks they’ll be different. She thinks they’ll fight for something. They don’t do shit. She watches some of her friends come out of their “appointments” with ugly bruises, the occasional broken bone. They always come to her. They look at her with desperate eyes and beg her to help them, protect them and, Christ, she <i>tries</i>. She tries so hard. She’s good at what she does, and she leverages her marketability as best she can.</p><p>End of the day? She’s just a doll. She’s a whore with talent and drive, but she’s still <i>just</i> a whore. </p><p>And then a corpo rat straggles into her life, half conscious and bleeding out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evelyn Parker/Male V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Here's to our leading lady; here's to our leading man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was encouraged to write some backstory for Ev and my V. I still love these idiots, and felt...compelled to try. The last scene is cannibalized and reframed from a since deleted fic of mine. Title is from the Kill's excellent song.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>________</p><p><b>EVELYN</b><br/>
_______</p><p>Some kids know what they’re gonna be from the start. </p><p>Evelyn Parker’s one of them. She’s an actress. She watches the women of the silver screen, elegant, powerful, and knows it’s her future. Her family goes so far as to encourage her, laughing, cheering when she puts on her little productions. She practices accents in front of her mirror; she poses, maybe six years old at the time, thoroughly convinced she’ll <i>make it.</i> </p><p>Maybe it’s not all bad. Looking back...she thinks it might even have been ok. She grows up poor, but that doesn’t mean she’s unhappy. Everyone knows each other in the megacomplex. They’re a family. They’ll fight for their own. If she gets her slavish devotion to her friends, her need to protect, from anywhere...well, it’s from them. She organizes plays with some of the local kids during the summers, when the days are warmer and they’re all sweat-slick and a little dizzy, and it’s...good. </p><p>She’s happy.<br/>
_______</p><p>At fourteen, she’s coming into her own. She’s more than pretty. She’s beautiful. She figures she’ll get on with an agency, something small to get her face out in the world. She’s not above bandying her looks about if it means she’ll get a foot in the door. Modelling is the first step. Once she’s built her name, her brand, she’ll start auditioning. </p><p>She’s fourteen when it all goes to shit. All because of a stray bullet. Wrong place, wrong time...a classic story in Night City. She’s seen dozens of films with the same premise. In any one of them, she’d have been the heroine. She’d have picked herself up and done better. </p><p>She just remembers screaming. A short, sharp, sound, more like a squeak. There’s not enough air in her lungs for anything more. Her father’s hand is still warm, clasped around her own. He...he didn’t want her getting lost in the crowd. He’d been afraid. But he’d gone. She’d asked him to take her to meet her agent and...he’d gone.</p><p>There’s blood across the front of her shirt. There’s blood on her face, hot. Too hot. People are screaming around her. Years later, in her nightmares, she’ll just remember the buzzing. The disconnect between her brain and body. Dad’s still in front of her, slumped, and there’s blood. So much blood. </p><p>He’s dead before the paramedics get to them. </p><p>Nothing’s the same after that.<br/>
__________</p><p>They need money. </p><p>Mom insists they’ll be fine. It's a lie. They're a family of liars, desperate to spare their loved ones feelings no matter the cost. Dark bags rim her eyes and she’s too thin. She doesn’t eat much after dad passes. Says it doesn’t taste right. Says she can’t sleep. Evelyn worries for her, but she’s fourteen and she doesn’t know what to say. Mom brushes the hair out of her face, kisses her forehead. They’ll be fine, she says again. Evelyn just needs to focus on her education. </p><p>Because she’s smart. She’s got a good head for business, numbers. If she wasn’t so damn set on being an actress, she’d have made a decent living working for a corporation. She’s smart, so of course she sees the bills. Of course she sees her mother wasting away. </p><p>She works as a waitress until she’s seventeen. The pay is shit, sure, but the tips are decent. She’s pretty. She’s good with people. It gives her a chance to hone her acting skills. She smiles at the drunks who make passes at her. She laughs, dancing away from clutching hands. She’s always polite.</p><p> She’s everything anyone wants her to be.<br/>
__________</p><p>Mom dies just before she turns eighteen. </p><p>It’s a modest funeral, but she makes sure the woman gets <i>something</i>. She smiles when people offer their consolations. She offers comfort. She’s strong. </p><p>She’s exhausted. Evelyn blows off her shift at the diner, splurges on a pack of cigs on her way home. She’s going to need another job, more hours, something. No matter how she tries to manipulate the budget it just...doesn’t figure out. The money isn’t there.</p><p>She treats herself to a long shower. She smokes the better part of her pack of cigarettes. </p><p>She’ll figure this out. She always does.<br/>
____________</p><p>She finds work somewhere nicer. She spends what’s left of her savings on a dress, a deep blue. It flatters her dark hair and pale eyes. Makes her look like she belongs around these rich assholes. She still smiles; she still flatters. She’s just doing it for more money. </p><p>She’s finishing up her shift when he calls her over. One of her regulars. He’s nice enough. Evelyn would go so far as to call him one of her favorites. He’s an older gentleman, badly greyed. He isn’t handsome in the traditional sense of the word. There’s just...something. His face is too thin, his mouth is too wide, hair always a little messy, but the sum of his parts is...acceptable. And his eyes are kind. </p><p>He offers to drive her home. </p><p>He boss said this would happen. The first day, he’d just shrugged. They dealt with a certain type of clientele, a lot of money, no time, and sometimes they wanted company. If the staff wanted to go along with it, that was their business. </p><p>“Just know,” he’d said, attention lingering on her chest. “You’re gonna get offers.”</p><p>She’s been waiting for them. As she figures it, it's a business exchange. Nothing more. She paints on a smile, all confidence. She <i>becomes</i> someone else. Someone an old corpo might like, a femme fatale he might just be able to <i>save</i>. Evelyn ducks her chin, plays coy as she reaches out to take his hand. She asks if that’s what he really wants. </p><p>It’s no surprise when he shakes his head, no. But he’s good enough to look ashamed, a hint of color flooding his cheeks. He’s...a gentleman about the whole thing. He offers her his coat when they step outside. It’s raining, and he asks her to stay put. He’ll fetch the car. </p><p>It’s sweet. Hell, given a little time, a little prodding, she might have slept with him for free. </p><p>He offers her a thousand eddies to go home with him, still blushing. </p><p>Evelyn’s a businesswoman. She knows what she looks like and what she’s worth. If someone’s going to take her virginity, she wants more. It’s the one fucking reason she’s waited so long. It’s a commodity, the best things she’s got going for her, and she’s going to get top dollar. </p><p>It takes all her skill as an actress to keep her face impassive when he makes his counteroffer. It’s a frankly ungodly sum. Enough to pay her rent, buy her a few new dresses. All for something so small. </p><p>She’s lucky. It’s not till she’s older that she hears the horror stories. Men who beat their partners. Picked up girls and left them bleeding out in a ditch. Her corpo takes her home, as promised. He orders her dinner and plies her with good wine. He fucks her in a penthouse suite she couldn’t even dream of affording, Night City glittering below them. He’s kind to her. And if the first time is uncomfortable, she doesn’t mind. The second time is much better. The second time, she'd go so far as to say she enjoys it. </p><p>He leaves her a note, thanking her, next to an exquisite breakfast and every eddie she’s owed. He asks her to be out before noon. </p><p>If she feels dirty about the whole thing, it washes off in the shower.<br/>
__________</p><p>She starts paying more attention to her looks. The baby fat has finally, finally, faded. Her face is more angular now and she is striking. Evelyn changes her hair. She’s always kept it mostly formless. Now she wears it in a bob, cut at the chin. It highlights the elegant angles, draws the eyes to her neck. She makes herself into a piece of art. </p><p>She’s hoping she’ll catch the eye of some agent. She doesn’t. Just men and women eager to take her home, too strapped for time to bother cultivating a relationship. </p><p>It’s a helluva thing to say that she’s <i>good</i> at something like this. Evelyn pretends it's one of her roles, just another skin she’s slipping into. They ask her to play a part and she does. </p><p>One woman keeps her around for a while. She’s awkward...really not the sort you expected to find in the corporate sphere. Like so many of her contemporaries, she’s touch starved and lonely. The first few nights she just...wants Evelyn there. To hold her hand, to curl up behind her in bed. The pay is good, but she enjoys these jobs less. </p><p>Fucking’s easier. She can play her part, effortless charm, and then just...go home. Be herself. The longer she spends in a character’s shoes, the more difficult it is to slip back out. But it pays. She makes more as an escort than she could ever hope to as a waitress. </p><p>That’s where it starts. She tells herself this is temporary. She’s getting herself back on her feet. She’s building a foundation. </p><p>The next day, she applies at Clouds.<br/>
_____</p><p>Years pass. She’s still at Clouds. </p><p>She’s popular. Her average client makes more than every doll working at Clouds. Combined. To say she’s high-class would be an understatement. </p><p>But she’s a whore, not an actress, and nothing’s changed. </p><p>______</p><p>She takes up with the Mox because she thinks they’ll be different. She thinks they’ll fight for something. Some part of her is still idealistic and young and <i>stupid</i>. They don’t do shit. She watches some of her friends come out of their “appointments” with ugly bruises, the occasional broken bone. They always come to her. They look at her with desperate eyes and beg her to help them, protect them and, Christ, she <i>tries</i>. She tries so hard. She’s good at what she does, and she leverages her marketability as best she can.</p><p>End of the day? She’s just a doll. She’s a whore with talent and drive, but she’s still just a whore. </p><p>One of the girl’s is crying. Evelyn strokes her hair. She tells her things will get easier. </p><p>She’s talented; the girl believes her.<br/>
_______</p><p>Every week is the same. Every Friday, she ends up here. Nursing a drink, arguing with Suzie, the works.</p><p> It’s been a long day. She’s sore. There’s a fresh bruise high on her cheek, another across her forehead, courtesy of an over exuberant client. The alcohol will numb the pain. It’s just...not there yet. </p><p>And that’s when he stumbles into Lizzie’s, bleeding out, half collapsing into the seat next to her. </p><p>That’s how they meet. The doll and her corpo. Blood and booze and broken dreams. Later, she might even think it’s poetic. Now, she just smiles, slipping into one of her many different skins. The femme fatale, effortlessly sexy. </p><p>“Something tells me you’ve had better nights.”<br/>
_____</p><p><b>V</b><br/>
_____</p><p>He manages a laugh, airy. The motion makes the room spin. V leans more heavily on the counter. “Was going pretty preem, actually.” </p><p>Preem, yeah. Boss was happy with his work. Trusted him with some field work. The job went off without a hitch. The thugs were just...wrong place, wrong time. Story of Night City. His tech promises the knife hasn’t nicked anything important, he’s just...bleeding out. </p><p>No big deal. He releases a shuddering breath. The adrenaline is fading and he’s starting to hurt. </p><p>The dame takes a drag off her cig. It's a hell of a thing: she blows the smoke towards him and the tendrils curl back towards her. One twines around her wrist, delicate as a lover. She looks like she <i>should</i> be corporate. She's got the same air as his fellow agents, intoxicating and clever. She indicates his jacket with a lazy tip of her head. The fringe of her hair tickles across her cheek, color shimmering in the club lights. There's a hint of blue, sapphire, rich. It compliments her eyes. It compliments <i>his</i> taste.  “And then Night City happened?” </p><p>She slides her drink to him across the counter. “Here. Won’t do much for the pain but…” she shrugs. The motion is effortless on her. “I find every little bit helps.” </p><p>He frowns. There’s a vibrant bruise across her forehead, fading back beneath her hairline. The black and blue suggests it’s recent. He toasts her before finishing the drink. “Thanks. Owe you one.” </p><p>She smiles. “Best get yourself checked out soon. Can’t pay up if you’re dead.” </p><p>“You got a name?” Taste of tequila lingers on his tongue; he needs a doc more than anything. For now, all he can think about is how bad he wants another drink. Or to buy her one.  </p><p>Her attention lingers on his jacket. Her mouth pinches. He’s a corpo rat; she really shouldn’t help him.. She reaches out anyway, careful as she eases the jacket away from his injury. “It’s Evelyn. Evelyn Parker.” </p><p>He’s swaying pretty badly. “Name’s V.” </p><p>“You’re bleeding out, V.” She presses her palm to his shoulder. The heat registers above all else, borders on electric. Takes everything in his power not to sag into her touch. Ev <i>looks</i> delicate, but her fingers bite into his shoulder. The pain is grounding.. </p><p>“You don’t say,” he mumbles. “Never would have guessed.” She raises an eyebrow. In another life, he thinks, she might have been a queen, noble, all that high class shit. She carries herself like she <i>should</i> own the room. It’s a stark contrast to the fake stones in her necklace, the off-brand clutch. “Got eddies. Coat pocket. Just...if you could...call me a doc?” </p><p>“Awfully trusting of you.”  She flicks hair out of her eyes. Evelyn stubs her cig out on the counter. She stands, fishing the roll of bills out of his pocket. The woman holds it poised between two fingers. “I could take the money and run.” </p><p>“Could. But if I happened to live…” he lets the sentence hang between them. And wonder of wonders, she laughs. Ev winds an arm around his waist, stable as she helps him into one of the VIP booths. Moving hurts. He manages to snatch a bottle of booze off the counter as they go, takes a deep swig. Burns all the way down his throat, which manages to distract from the pain in his side. His words are a little slurred when she finally helps him sit. “Got blood on your dress, Miss Parker.”</p><p>She’s punching a number into her phone, only half listening. “We’ll just say you owe me for that too.” </p><p>“Racking up debts like this...ain’t ever gonna pay you off…”</p><p>Her smile is sad, even in the half-light. “Everyone owes someone in this town, handsome.  Promise I’m not so bad.” Then she’s standing, phone to her ear. “Yeah, I need a doctor. Lizzies. He’s in pretty bad shape.” The woman on the other end of the line says something. “He’s still conscious, yes. I can...keep him that way till  you show up.” </p><p>He’s not sure why she helps him. He’s too addled to care. The moment Evelyn hangs up, she’s lighting another cig. The smoke is sweeter than he expects, but there’s something else. An acrid uncurrent, barely there unless you’re trapped with it. V glances down at his stolen bottle of booze. He slides it to her. “Here. Look like you could use it.” </p><p>There’s more bruises. One on her collarbone. Another just above the rise of her right breast. He makes sure he doesn’t stare. He wonders who’d be stupid enough to hurt her, wonders what she does for a living. His femme fatale: the pauper queen.</p><p>“Owe you one,” he says again. “Pay you back. Gonna be...corporate. Counter-intel. Bigshot.” </p><p>Her smile is bittersweet. The first truly genuine expression he’s seen all night. “Those are some big dreams, handsome.” </p><p>“Gotta...dream big...only way to make it in Night City.” </p><p>She doesn’t respond. Just finishes what’s left of their drink.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It begins, and it ends, and begins with her</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's years later. V is struggling at work. Evelyn is dissatisfied. She visits Judy, only to meet up with her corpo rat.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The tense has changed primarily because I'm done with the rapid fire like...summary backstory. It's time to settle into some...weird slow burn.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>______________</p><p><b>V: 2075</b><br/>
_____________</p><p>Arasoka executives prided themselves on their offices. </p><p>Red, black, and not a hint of natural light. In the deeper recesses of the building, where one cubicle ran into the next and windows were a pipedream, you started to forget about the sun entirely. The world just...narrowed. You lived in low light and neon. </p><p>Jenkins office was a little better, even if the guy kept the shades drawn most of the time. The décor was spartan. No personal touches; no photos.  Closest he got was a bottle of scotch tucked away on the left side of the monitor. </p><p>“You listening, V?” Jenkins leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled in front of him. In the years he’d spent working under the man, V’d never seen him relaxed. Not once. A muscle near the right corner of his mouth twitched, ticking downwards. Meant he was reaching the end of his patience.  </p><p>V sat up straighter. “Yes, sir.” </p><p>“Staring at the fuckin’ window like that...makes me wonder.” </p><p>The underlying threat was obvious. If he’d had an astronomical climb these past few years, it was owed to one thing: keeping in Jenkin’s good graces. Was just the way the guy functioned; he wanted yes men. He kept his favorite dogs close. Moment you slipped up…</p><p>“Target’s Richard Grey. White male, forty-five, no priors. Shifted his focus from Biotechnica R&amp;D into politics just last year.” </p><p>Jenkins uncoiled, all easy smiles now. He leaned forward, pulling two glasses nearer. Scotch rocks into both, and then a generous finger of scotch. The good stuff, not the cheap shit he’d pull out if Abernathy stopped by. He’d liked to say he kept it on reserve for his golden boys. </p><p>Was a compliment, sure, but V never managed to shake the sinking feeling. Like a weight on his chest, nails digging into his ribs. Far as he’d been able to tell, Arasoka favored two types for middle management. Bitches like Abernathy, three moves ahead in a game no one else knew they were playing, and Jenkins. A fuckin’ loaded gun, looking for a chance to go off. No finesse and an itchy trigger finger.</p><p>Jenkins slid one of the glasses towards him. “I want him gone, V.” </p><p>And when Jenkins got like this, the game changed. It was about survival, damage control. Keeping the boss man happy and not alienating the rest of Arasoka in the process. Six years in and he still hadn’t mastered the dance. V took a testing sip of his drink. There was no burn. Just a smooth, borderline numb, oaky flavor lingering on his tongue. “Grey’s popular. He goes missing, people are gonna start sniffing around.” </p><p>“Politician’s go missing all the time.” The twitch again. </p><p>“Sure. Fuckers leading anti-corpo rallies? Definitely. But we got Grey preaching his anti-establishment bullshit outside HQ one day, and ghosted the next? Don’t need that kind of press. Definitely don’t need another martyr.”</p><p>“What would you suggest?” </p><p>Careful. Let him draw the narrative to its natural conclusion. “Tail him. Ain’t some saint. He’s got skeletons in his closet, just like the rest of us. Find some. Drag em’ out. Once the media turns on him…”</p><p>“We take our shot.” </p><p>“Yes, sir.” </p><p>Jenkins pursed his lips. None of this was his style. He wanted the gratification. Wanted the Arasoka name out of the news, all that shit. After the past few ops, counter-intel couldn’t afford that screwup. The fact that this was well outside their jurisdiction only made shit worse. This was HR’s job. Jenkins nodded to himself, swiveling in his seat. “Get me something by the end of the week.” </p><p> He didn’t let the irritation show. He was an officer now. Little leagues of the corporate world, sure, but he was still part of the game. He finished his drink in a gulp, standing. “Impossible jobs are my specialty, sir. End of the week.” </p><p>Even if he had a team in place, it would have been rough to put a full brief together. V kept his mouth shut. He’d been in the game five years now. Five years was a long time in the corporate world. A lot of bullets to dodge, backstabbing in boardrooms. Putting up with Jenkins shit and covering his own ass. </p><p>Jackie warned him about this the day the ‘Soka recruiters came to pick him up. Corpo life was lucrative sure, but it came at a cost. They owned you. And there was no way out. </p><p>V scrubbed at his wrist. The skin itched, courtesy of his newest implants. Grunts could afford to get by with a pocket knife and their wits. An officer? Called for nicer tech. ‘Soka tech. New optics, new blades, the whole kit and kaboodle. </p><p>And there was that thought again, whisper quiet: no way out, buddy boy. He pushed it down. </p><p>“Alright. Gather up, people. Jenkin’s got a job for us. Ain’t our regular brief but,” he shrugged. Small as they were, V’s team had been relegated to a small cubby down the hall from Jenkin’s office. Four cubicles made up the entirety of their office space. Whole space was maybe a quarter of the size of the smallest boardroom. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Where’s Suri?” </p><p> “Still in the field. Kang Tao op.” </p><p>“Ferdinand?” </p><p>“Out of town. Don’t expect him back for months.” </p><p>V pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, it’s what...you and me?”</p><p>The tech was a good kid, sure. Just wasn’t cut out for field work. Scared easily, tended to freeze up when he was away from his station. It was just as well; when it came to intel, he was one of the best in the game. V was sure the only reason he wasn’t further up the ladder was semantics. No family name; no patron. Chances of him moving up in the world without a Jenkin’s of his own were slim to none. Simon nodded. “That’s the way it looks, sir.” </p><p>Wasn’t enough manpower for such a truncated op. V rocked back on his heels, chewing the inside of his cheek. The scroll at the top of his feed flashed briefly. Blood Pressure elevated, heart rate too. The usual shit. He forced himself to take another deep breath. “Get a preliminary search going for me, will you? Wanna know where he’s been, favorite watering holes, the usual shit.” </p><p>“And what’ll you be doing?” </p><p>He was already punching numbers into his phone. “Findin’ us some more bodies.”<br/>
_______________</p><p><b>Evelyn- 2075</b><br/>
_______________</p><p>The rooms at Clouds were nicer than the average dollhouse. Sparse, sure, but it wasn’t like their clientele had any interest in the décor. It was the dolls, merchandise and set dressing rolled up into one idealized package. Evelyn toed off her heels. The dressing rooms were less classy, but she preferred them. If there was music, and there rarely was, they kept it down to little more than a whisper. This was their sanctuary, a quiet reprieve from the thrumming bass and neon. </p><p>Evelyn chanced a look at herself in the mirror. Lipstick smeared; hair matted....no bruising. It’d been a pleasant surprise when the AI returned her body. Her last client was polite, even went so far as to leave her a generous tip. No damage, nothing sore…all perks. </p><p>She lit a cigarette, letting the chems fill her lungs. Smoking after sex was the oldest cliché in the book, but she was too old to shake the habit. It calmed her, gave her something to do with her hands. The smell of the smoke made her feel a little more in control. </p><p>Her phone buzzed. Judy again, probably. It’d been weeks since she stopped by Lizzies. </p><p>She’d have to respond soon. She loved the other woman, loved her deeply, but stewing in a basement at all hours of the day left a person...stunted. If she didn’t respond, Judy would dwell. Her anxiety would build until she finally just...showed up at Clouds. That never ended well. </p><p>She sighed, shifting. It was the same thing as always. Judy would text. Evelyn would doubt. Her attention would inevitably stray to pink katana, still leaning casually against the side of her dresser. The blade was thinner than average, lighter too, a custom job and a gift from an old flame. In her more introspective moods, she’d wonder what happened to him. He’d been sweet and shy, par for the course with her associates. For him, the Moxes had been about justice, protecting the little guy. The Cocktail Stick epitomized all that. </p><p>Whether or not she bought into the idealistic drivel, the pragmatic part of her wouldn’t deny it’d been a useful gift. It was sharp; it was balanced. It was light enough for her to use for extended stretches. In the early days, when they’d first taken Lizzie’s back and braced for Tyger push back, she’d relied exclusively on caffeine and that kitschy katana. </p><p>She wasn’t stupid or sentimental enough to say those had been good times but...it’d felt like they were building something. The honeymoon period lasted a year, maybe a year and a half. Then it’d all come crashing down. She left. Judy stayed. </p><p>And there it was again: Judy. </p><p>She picked up her phone. The message was simple:<i> been awhile; you still alive, Evie?</i></p><p><i>Still alive, Judes. Nothing new to talk about, sorry. </i> </p><p>The response was instantaneous. Evelyn shook her head, smiling. She’d been right. Judy was worried; she was stressed.<i> Ain’t like you gotta entertain me. Just nice to hear from you now and again, ya know? </i></p><p>I know. She checked the clock. At just after four, she’d have enough time to head home, catch a shower, and make it to Lizzie’s before they opened. <i> How ‘bout I get you outta that basement? Buy you dinner? Tonight? </i></p><p>
  <i>What's wrong with the basement? </i>
</p><p>She huffed, punching the response into her phone. She plucked her purse off the dresser, grabbing her coat. With no more clients on the books, she could afford to cut out a bit early. <i>Somebody has to save you from yourself, Judy. </i></p><p><i>Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too, Evie. Seeya tonight. </i><br/>
_______</p><p>“Lookit that: the queen herself, deigning to visit her supplicants.” Matteo smiled as he said it, eyes twinkling in the neon light, rocking back on his heels. Too pleased with himself. </p><p>Evelyn shook her head, sliding into one of the empty stools. She held a cig out to him for a light. “I’d hope you have a drink for the Queen.” </p><p>“Not even a hello, I see. Same as usual?” </p><p>“You know me.” </p><p>He never did give her the light. Matteo set the matches in front of her on the counter, already turning away. Whiskey was the order of the evening, neat. She drummed her fingers on the counter. There was something comfortable in the gentle click of metal on metal, in time with the music. Evelyn lit her own cig, shooting Judy a quick text. <i>Get your ass upstairs, girl. </i></p><p>The doll took a drag off her cig, letting the taste fill her mouth. She'd splurged. These were designer, more than she’d usually spend, but the sweetness of the smoke and the lack of acidity were telltale to any connoisseur. A newer contribution to her ‘high class’ image. One of the senators she’d fucked preferred them; every time she’d kissed the woman, she’d tasted it. It was memorable. </p><p>You wanted that in her line of work. You needed to tantalize, to get under their skin and into their heads…hence the cigs.  She checked her phone again. No response from Judy.  Again, par for the course. Judy loved her work, got lost in it. A true virtuoso. If she’d been three drinks in, she’d feel jealous. For now, she could applaud her friend’s good fortune. </p><p>At just after six, Lizzies’ was already nearing capacity. The bar was famous, or infamous, depending on who you happened to ask; the Moxes relied on it for the majority of their funding. The small-time protection jobs and brothels they operated didn’t account for half of what Lizzies banked them. She flicked a stray bit of food off the counter; the place could have made more, too, under the right management. But for all Suzie’s talk about running the gang as a business, she lacked ambition. She took the profit, never investigated how she could innovate. Any suggestions were summarily dismissed. </p><p>“Your drink, Ev.” Matteo leaned on the counter, almost liquid. She knew the lazy, boneless, way he moved was an act. The bartender was an effective fighter, capable of doubling as a bouncer if Rita was caught up outside. She patted his hand. “Judy was singing the praises of one of her virtues earlier, hot stuff. Thinkin’ you’ll need to drag her up here.” </p><p>“Soon.” She took a testing sip of her drink. A double pour, no extra charge. Evelyn smiled, shifting until they could meet halfway across the counter, her left arm fetched up to his right. “Spill. How’s business?” </p><p>He shrugged. “Business as usual. No real fights in over a month. Been nice, really. Still feel awkward when the NCPD start poking around, you know?” Matteo nudged her shoulder. “Lot less yelling without you here, I’ll say that.” She raised a brow. He was smart enough to recognize it as a warning. “Take it as a compliment, eh? Between you and management, nights were always lively.” </p><p>“You <i>are</i> a little shit, you know that?” </p><p>“Been told a few times. Never seem to learn from it.” He squeezed her hand, glancing down the bar. They were understaffed, as per the norm. The crowd was growing, all of them eager to catch his attention. “Gotta go for now. You call me if you want another drink, yeah?” </p><p>He was a good guy. Most of the Mox were good people, desperate to make life a little better. She took a sip of her drink to chase that line of thought away. It was much easier to survey the crowd, see if she could pick out any familiar faces. Some nights a few big hitters, corpos, politicians, rich assholes, would drop in to survey the local wildlife. She wasn’t in the mood to work tonight but, if the catch was rich enough, she’d make an exception. </p><p>The crowd was unremarkable. Punks, wannabe rockerboys and their groupies...nothing worth her time. Evelyn finished her drink. She’d drag Judy upstairs, maybe even outdoors; they’d get dinner, catch up. Easy, comfortable evening. She tossed a few extra eddies on the counter for Matteo and stood. </p><p>She stopped halfway to the private rooms. It’d been a few years, sure, but she still recognized him: the Arasoka grunt. His suit was nicer, hair a bit longer, and he’d lost the deathly pallor but...all things considered, it was him. Another man was seated beside him in the booth, far larger, Valentino by the looks of things. An odd pair. Evelyn smiled, holding her cigarette up in a makeshift salute. </p><p>V, that was his name. His eyes widened, shifting over her once before realization seemed to dawn. The corpo stood. The cut, the material...everything about his dress was more professional. He grinned, glancing over at his companion. “Lookit that, Jack. My guardian angel <i>did</i> stick around.” </p><p>“This one?” The Valentino shook his head, chuckling. “All that luck of yours, hermano. Keep waiting for the day it runs out.” He bowed his head to her. “Got my thanks, hermosa. Kept my brother among the living.”</p><p>“It was nothing.” </p><p>“To you? Maybe. To us?” The shrug again. The man...Jack’s smile widened. The expression was purely genuine, echoed in the mischief in his eyes. The openness was at odds with the rest of him, contrasting the leather jackets, the tattoos. He struck her as too personable for gang life. He reached over, hitting V’s arm hard enough to leave the smaller man shuffling forward. “Who raised you? Lady’s got an empty hand and you ain’t offered her a drink yet?” </p><p>“Jack, I don’t…” V paused. He shot his friend a look before glancing back towards her. He tipped his head to the side, observing her more carefully. The green eyes narrowed briefly, harder, before he nodded. All that weight seemed to sluff off of him, leaving him as lax and charming as before. V scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Is rude of me, ain’t it? Whatd’ya think, Miss Parker? Seem to recall owing you.” </p><p>“Three times over.” Evelyn shot a final glance towards the back of the club. Judy still hadn’t responded. Over the course of her time in Night City, Evelyn fancied she’d learned a few invaluable lessons. The first and most important was this: trust your instincts. They were nothing really, this low level ‘Soka shill and his Valentino buddy. It was just a feeling. A little like the electricity in the air right before a storm. </p><p>This felt like potential. </p><p>Evelyn painted on a smile, holding her hand out towards V. “One drink. Make it worth my time.” </p><p>He had the nerve to grin at her, “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing a woman of your caliber, Miss Parker. Have a seat.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I deleted the other version of this story because I didn't like the framing device, and couldn't guarantee I'd have the time to work on it. I still can't guarantee I'll have the time, so updates will likely be sporadic. Gonna do my best. Thanks for stopping in.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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